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She wears thick stockings and lace
More days than not. Whispers
To the willow trees, and records
Their every wind-swept secret.
Finds irony in the fact that she finds life,
In the dying autumn leaves. She craves
Empty moleskins and full coffee mugs in early morning.
She writes, until the ...

There are some things
In this life, that we,
Must walk into blindly, and
Hope for the best.
Some things—most things
Cannot by taught in a classroom,
Written nicely in a manual,
Or outlined, even
By the most careful hands.
My parents once told me, that
Raising me
Was one of those thin...

Dear friend,
This will be your final notification.
Due to numerous breaches of contract,
I must regretfully retract the following
From our now mashed and mangled friendship:
One, a card,
Finished off with some form of inside joke scribbled on the back cover,
Or perfectly worded sympathet...

An ode to the nights I’m on top of the word.
The ones which coax me out of bitterness
With tempting promises of change,
of freedom.
Where I can pull my mind from the darkness,
And let it roam free, if only for a moment.
Here’s to the nights my lungs fill with air,
My insides no longer ...

She’d been putting it off for weeks now. Just closing the door and pretending the daunting task did not actually exist. She’d walk past the room and glance sideways towards it, always asking herself if she might be able to handle it today. No, maybe tomorrow, she whispered. Though on every tomor...

We grew peaches that year
When she left us.
Never has a harvest been better.
Said she loved the smell of the orchard;
Spent days lost in the fields;
Hardly spoke but to the trees.
Lips sealed and sewn shut
By the time they bore their fruit.
Done up with a neat little stitch.
The kind Gran...

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